


Ongoing

by drew



Category: Latter Days (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:39:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drew/pseuds/drew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron's not so sure about this "uncertainty" thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ongoing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tassos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/gifts).



In the end, when it came to the day-to-day, it wasn't that big of a change, really. It hadn't taken Aaron long at all to adjust mentally from delivering the Word of God to delivering hot meals, and Project Angel Food was only too happy to have an extra enthusiastic pair of hands. Christian liked to jokingly ask (often, and sometimes obnoxiously) if the world could be made a much better place by harnessing the deep-seated need of Mormons to knock on strangers' doors. "You know, I think it's genetic," Christian said with a grin. "Old Joseph Smith must have had a real thing for knockers." He waggled his eyebrows.

Aaron just rolled his eyes. "How do you explain me, then?"

"I don't think you're explainable." Christian laughed. "You're just... you're here." He paused. "And I'm so fucking glad. Every day when I get to wake up next to you, I am so fucking glad." They kissed, then. Not the quick peck of a couple lapsed into habit, or the deep tongue-intensive makeout of two new lovebirds, but a sweet, real kiss. Aaron flushed.

The things Aaron missed about being a missionary were complicated and hard to tease out; they were embedded in his soul and in a past from which he found it difficult to disentangle himself. The things on the other side of the coin were much easier to list: white cotton/poly short-sleeved oxfords, clip-on name badges, doing Ryder's laundry, homophobia... those, he wouldn't miss. He shifted the bag he was holding to the other hand, then opened the screen door and knocked. At least this door was unlikely to slam in his face.

***

Four months of busing and waiting tables at Lila's had convinced Aaron that maybe the restaurant business wasn't for him. He loved Christian, he did -- sometimes desperately -- but working with his live-in boyfriend had its own challenges. They'd moved in together almost instantly; with Aaron not having a job or a place to stay, it had been out of necessity. Lila had offered him the job out of pity, he knew, and he'd told her, point-blank, that he'd only take it until he found something else, something he'd earned by himself. Lila, in her own knowing way, would have none of it.

"Young man, I can assure you that you're more than qualified. And as for "earning"... well, I hope you realize that you helped me more than I can say, coming to terms with..." she trailed off, still not quite able to put words to it.

Aaron looked uncomfortable. "All we did was talk. Besides, our deal was for one dinner, and I got the better end of that deal -- I don't think I would have ever found Christian if not for you."

"Don't be so sure of that. Remember what I said about miracles."

***

It was three in the morning and Aaron sat in a hard plastic chair, with a styrofoam cup of water in his hand. Above his head, a fluorescent light shone bluish on him and the outdated Time magazine on the coffee table in front of him. He took a sip of water and rubbed his eyes. The clock didn't tick, but marched steadily forward.

"Mr. Davis?"

Aaron looked up at the doctor who had come in through the door adjacent to the nurse's station. "Uh, that's me."

"He's asking for you, and we think he's stable enough for you to go in."

"Thanks. Should I just...?"

The doctor nodded. "Go ahead back; second door on the right. I'll be back in a couple minutes."

Aaron stood, tossed his cup into the trash can and headed through the door. The second door on the right was painted a bright green, possibly in an effort at cheer; there was little enough of that here. He glanced at the man in the hospital bed.

"It's okay, you can look. I know I look like crap."

"You don't, Andrew. What... what happened?"

"Some dick on a crotch rocket blew past me and hit something -- I hit his crashed bike." He reached up to scratch his head, was unable to actually lift his arm, and sighed dramatically. "I'm the lucky one; from what I saw before I crashed, he'll be lucky if they were able to scrape up enough of him off the pavement to fit in an urn."

"Now's not exactly the time for joking."

"Now's exactly the time for joking, buddy-boy. I have been poked and prodded and stitched together and all but labeled in giant Sharpie 'Do Not Touch - AIDS Victim', and all I want right now is to be asleep in my own bed, but I'm stuck in this shithole and they won't even let me go to the bathroom by myself." Andrew shook his head. "You can't take away a guy's sense of humor. That's the surest way to kill him, you know?"

Aaron was silent for a minute. Then, "Did I ever tell you about the dots?"

"You mean about how this is all some low-res comic strip page? Yeah. But what if it's not? Or worse yet, what if it's one of those not-funny comics, like Zippy, where nobody understands a damn thing and half the time it's like the artist just forgot he was supposed to turn in a strip that day, so he just doodled some shit in the margin of his notebook and sent it in. Maybe it does make sense from somewhere, and maybe it's funny, but from here it's just a load of crap. And if God wants me to suffer through this, then I will, but I'm not exactly going to be rah-rah-ing for God's grand plan, you get my drift?"

Aaron was quiet.

Andrew rolled his eyes and fixed Aaron with a look. "Hey. None of that moping stuff. Where's your worse half?"

"Oh, uh. Well, I figured it would be better if one of us got some sleep. He'll be here tomorrow -- I mean, later today."

"You know I'm going to guilt the hell out of him, so be prepared."

Aaron chuckled a little at that. "Why? It's not his fault you slammed into a motorcycle."

"No, but Miss Thing gets freaked the fuck out at the sight of blood. Don't think I don't know why he's not here right now."

Aaron blushed. "I, uh, may have volunteered to take the first shift. But you can't prove anything."

Andrew smiled.

***

Aaron had no idea what to do after sex. He'd figured out foreplay, sexual mechanics, and several other things above and beyond "insert tab A in slot B", but afterward was different. Christian wasn't all that much better -- years of conquests and one-night-stands had left him with a tendency to think of sex as a one-off, with the afterglow as an awkward "should I stay or should I go" feeling. They'd settled into a semi-routine, though: cuddle for a bit, spoon until Christian fell asleep, and then Aaron would extract himself and try to sleep. Most nights he'd get up, walk around a bit, maybe get a glass of water, then lay back down and stare at imaginary spots on the ceiling, blurring them out until they were just dots and refocusing on them once more.

This particular night, Christian shifted in his sleep, curling sideways toward Aaron, and Aaron put his hand on top of Christian's shoulder and left it there, just enjoying the contact. Christian stretched, catlike, then blinked his eyes open. "Trouble sleeping?" he yawned.

"Just thinking. Go back to sleep."

Christian "hmm"ed and rolled over onto his front. "No, really, what's going on?"

"Noth-"

"Don't say that. I want to know; I care."

Aaron breathed in and out a couple of times. "Just... thinking. About some things."

"Is this about what Andrew said?"

Aaron was quiet for a minute. Then, "Maybe."

"Does it matter? I mean, say your big theory about the dots is wrong. Is that going to change how you live your life?" Christian's chin was propped up on his hand, now, and he was looking directly into Aaron's eyes with more alertness than he should have been able to muster on such short notice.

"No. I mean, I hope not. It just..." Aaron got quiet for a few moments, and then whispered, "what if God is arbitrary and there isn't a plan? What if, even from far away, it's still dots? Or just some mishmash of color?"

"You'll still be helping people. And I'll still be pretty and shallow and Julie will still be an amazing singer and Lila will still be stealing booze from her own restaurant. And if God hasn't figured out what to do with these people yet, if they're just some blobs of color, it's because they're on His easel, waiting to be painted out." Christian reached out and took Aaron's hand with his free arm. "It doesn't matter, because the point of the whole thing is not whether God wants us to follow some plan that He explicitly laid out; the point is that we are who we are, and we have to do whatever we do and hope either that it is part of the plan, or that it's causing something, somewhere, to get better."

"Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

"Not in the last five minutes, no."

"Hmm. I think I'll have to do something about that." And Aaron leaned forward and kissed Christian -- something he'd done dozens of times before -- but, he thought, maybe each time it made their dots glow a bit brighter.


End file.
